“I am sorry, mademoiselle, but I am afraid I cannot allow you to speak with the patient until we have fully questioned him.”
Tam didn’t think Colonel Claude DuBois of the GIGN—the Groupe d'intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale, France’s elite national police counter-terrorism unit—was actually sorry at all. She chalked it up to the fact that English wasn’t his primary language, though he seemed quite fluent. “Colonel, with all due respect, it’s been almost sixteen hours. You’ve had plenty of time to question him.” She stopped herself, took a breath, and then tried a different approach. “I understand that you have a job to do. I’m not trying to interfere. I just want to make sure my friends are all right.”
DuBois regarded her with a narrow-eyed, supercilious expression. “I am not sure you do understand. I know who you really work for. You Americans... You think you can come here and turn my country into the OK Corral.”
Tam clenched her fists. It was not the first time she had heard that accusation or something like it. She had spent most of the overnight trans-Atlantic flight on the phone, dealing with the political fallout from the incident.
Although her agents had done nothing wrong, the simple fact of their presence at the scene of a major terror attack was enough to bruise the alliance between France and the United States. The authorities on the ground assumed—correctly—that the two armed Americans involved in the shootout with an as yet unidentified suspect were intelligence officers, engaged in clandestine activity on French soil without permission from the French government. The Myrmidons worked under non-official cover status—NOC—which meant the Agency’s official policy was to deny and disavow, but when it came to the war against international terrorism, there was a tacit understanding, if not open cooperation among the intelligence community of NATO allies. Such operations happened all the time; the problem was that this one had blown up in their face. Literally.
Whatever political capital she had gained from stopping the Immortal’s attack on the global monetary system was pretty much gone, leaving her on shaky ground. Which wasn’t a good place from which to deal with what she considered to be far more urgent problems.
The least of those problems was the fact that Thom Martiel... or the Immortal, or whatever he wanted to call himself... had slipped through her fingers.
Actually, it was more complicated than that. When she had identified Peter Furst as a co-conspirator, she had unwittingly put the Myrmidons in the cross-hairs. Furst it seemed had a lot of friends—or at least, people who felt it was to their advantage to stand by him—both inside the government and among the wealthy men who had the real power. Whether out of a misguided sense of loyalty or because they were secret sharers in the conspiracy—Tam feared the latter—they had thrown up enough of a smokescreen to allow Furst, and presumably Martiel as well, to escape the country. She had no idea where they were now, and while she had not been officially ordered to back off—the CIA was at least taking the threat seriously—she wasn’t getting much help from outside the Agency. And Stone had assured her that, despite losing a battle, the Immortal was by no means beaten.
Tam knew how urgent that situation was, but her first priority was taking care of her teammates, which was why, after the brief but desperate phone call from Greg, she was here, at the small hospital in Salon de Provence, arguing with the Gendarmerie officer.
“As I told your superior,” she explained patiently, “my people were not conducting any kind of clandestine operation. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“On that, we agree,” DuBois said, though he made it sound like an accusation.
Although the Agency had mostly made nice with the French government, DuBois—the ranking GIGN officer on the scene—was evidently exercising his discretionary power to protect his turf by keeping Greg Johns incommunicado. Aside from that single brief phone call following the attack, she had not spoken to him at all. Through diplomatic channels, she had learned that he had sustained two gunshot wounds, but neither were considered life-threatening. The same could not be said for Kasey Kim. Although she had survived surgery to repair the damage from the bullet, she had lost a great deal of blood before reaching the hospital, and the doctors were concerned that she might have suffered brain damage associated with hypoxia. They would only know the full extent of the damage when—or if—she regained consciousness.
Behind Tam, Billy Sievers made a low humming sound. It might have been a growl. “Can you at least tell us how they’re doing?”
The colonel softened a little at the emotional plea. Tam suspected it was because Sievers, despite being the stereotypical American cowboy that DuBois found so contemptible, was both white and male. The Frenchman’s reply seemed to confirm this. “Your friend is conscious and alert. One bullet passed through the muscle of his left arm. The other grazed his ribs on the left side, but he will live. The Asian woman...” He shook his head. “It is too soon to say for certain. But she is still alive, no? You should keep praying for her.”
Tam certainly had been doing that, but she was not here simply to inquire about the health of her wounded agents. She needed to talk to Greg, not to hear from his own lips what had happened or to coach him on what to tell the French investigators, but to find out what had happened to Avery Halsey.
Thus far, there had been no mention of Avery. The French authorities had given no indication that they were even aware of her existence, and Tam wasn’t going to risk further blowback by asking. Unfortunately, that meant there was no way of knowing if Avery was alive and in hiding, or if she had been captured. For all Tam knew, she might be in the morgue of the very same hospital—an unidentified victim of the bomb blast that had rocked the streets of Salon de Provence. Finding Avery and keeping her safe was now Tam’s highest priority, but to do that, she needed to talk to Greg.
She tried again. “If you could just give us a few minutes with him.”
Before DuBois could stonewall her again, Stone stepped forward. “Colonel, you’re right about everything. This never should have happened. Maybe if you had been kept in the loop from the start, this tragedy might have been avoided.”
DuBois gave a grim smile. “As you say.”
“But maybe we can help each other out now,” Stone went on. “You want to catch the guy who did this. So do we. So why not work together?”
“So you do admit that you were conducting a counter-terror operation on French soil?”
Tam shot Stone a wary glance. She knew what he was attempting to do—or hoped she knew—but they were on thin enough ice as it was.
Stone spread his hands in a knowing gesture. “Colonel, really, let’s just move past that, can we?”
DuBois frowned. “I’m listening. What do you have to tell me?”
Stone glanced over at Tam, as if to reassure her, then faced DuBois again. “I’m sure you’ve pulled surveillance video footage from the area near the attack.”
“Of course.”
“Have you identified a suspect?”
DuBois shrugged. “We are still reviewing it.”
“Let me take a look at it. Nothing official, mind you. Just a second pair of eyes. If I see someone interesting, I’ll nod my head. You can do the rest. And take all the credit.”
The officer stared back at him with undisguised suspicion. “And in return?”
“Let them...” He nodded toward Tam and Sievers. “...talk to our friend.”
“This is the kind of cooperation that would have helped prevent the tragedy,” DuBois said, but then inclined his head. “Very well. It’s a deal.”
Stone waited patiently as DuBois logged into his government-issued laptop and brought up the surveillance camera footage the police had obtained from several different locations near the site of the explosion. When he had the files loaded into the video player software, he turned the computer so that Stone could see the display, and hit the ‘play’ button.
The video showed a generic-looking sedan pulling to a stop on a lightly trafficked street. A man wearing dark clothes and a ball cap got out and walked away. He kept his head down, the visor of his hat obscuring most of his face from view, making any identification impossible.
“This is from about two hours before the explosion,” DuBois explained. “That car was carrying the bomb. As you can see, the suspect was careful to avoid the cameras, but he was also the shooter. We know he remained in the area.”
“He may have changed clothes,” Stone suggested.
“He may have,” DuBois agreed with a hint of sarcasm, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“All right. Let’s see some different angles.”
DuBois fast forwarded the footage to speed the process along. For the next few minutes, Stone watched cars and pedestrians coming and going from different angles. He made a show of scrutinizing the faces, but he wasn’t really interested in what was happening on the screen. After about five minutes of this, however, he sat up straight and exclaimed, “Wait, go back.”
Then before he could reach for the computer and hit several keys in rapid succession, the screen flashed blue and then went into restart mode.
“Oops,” Stone said with a guilty shrug. “Must have hit the wrong key.”
The gendarmerie officer made a guttural sound of irritation as he drew the computer close and waited for it to finish booting up. “Please don’t touch,” he said, making no effort at patience. “If you see something, just tell me.”
“You got it.”
When he was logged back into the police network, the colonel turned the computer toward Stone, but this time kept it well out of reach. That was fine with Stone; his little stunt had already yielded the desired fruit. He watched the feed for several more minutes, occasionally asking DuBois to reverse or freeze the image, but then always shaking his head.
At one point, DuBois slowed the footage and pointed to two figures walking past the camera. The angle wasn’t very good, but Stone recognized them immediately. So, evidently, did DuBois. “This is your... your friend? The Asian woman.”
“Kasey,” Stone said, nodding.
“Oui. Do you know who the other woman is?”
“No idea,” Stone lied. “Tour guide?”
DuBois grunted. “We will identify her eventually.” He ran the feed ahead several minutes until Greg Johns appeared on the screen. “And here is your other friend. We know that he and... ah, Kasey were found together outside the Musee de Nostradame.”
He ran the footage forward again for a while, then resumed normal play. The angle of the camera showed nothing but an empty street for a few seconds, but then there was a flash, and the image jumped. Pieces of debris were now scattered across the pavement. A few more seconds passed, and then Avery dashed in and out of view.
“There she is again,” DuBois said. “And now she has the backpack that your friend was carrying. Very interesting, no?”
“No,” Stone replied dryly. “She’s obviously running away from danger, which seems like a prudent thing to do. I thought you wanted me to help you identify the terrorists.”
“Perhaps this unknown woman was working with the terrorists. Maybe she lured them into this ambush?”
Stone gave a noncommittal shrug. “Do you know where she went after this?”
DuBois reached for the computer again. “I’ll pull video from neighboring streets.”
“Well, you can if you want, but it’s probably a waste of your time. She clearly wasn’t the shooter.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Listen, you know I can’t say anything on the record, so this is just between you and me...”
There was a twinkle in DuBois’ eyes as he nodded. “Go on.”
“This wasn’t any kind of counter-terrorism operation. Greg and Kasey were here investigating the black market for illegal antiquities. That’s what they were doing at the museum. The woman is probably their interpreter. I don’t think either one of them speaks French.”
“Ah, so this is a criminal enterprise, not terrorism.”
“As you know, the two often go together.” He leaned back, shrugged. “Maybe this has nothing to do with that. Maybe it really was just a case of wrong place, wrong time. But if this wasn’t just a random attack—if the shooter was targeting Greg and Kasey—then wouldn’t you agree that it’s in our mutual interest to keep sharing information? Nothing official, of course.”
The colonel nodded slowly. “Of course.”
“Great. Can I just get your email?”
While Stone made a show of reviewing the video footage on DuBois’ computer, Tam and Sievers went to see Greg. They found him sitting up in his bed watching a televised soccer game with the sound turned off. A fleeting smile crossed his face, then his expression hardened. “Tam. Billy. Thanks for coming.”
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“Better than Kasey.”
“She’s going to be fine,” Tam said. She hoped it was true. “Greg, what about Avery?”
Greg frowned. “She hasn’t checked in?”
“Not a peep. And her phone is dead. Won’t even ping.”
“Damn it,” Greg snarled. He gave a heavy sigh. “Sorry. Put an IOU in the swear jar for me.”
“I’ll let you have that one. What happened?”
He brought her up to speed on everything that had happened since the last check-in from London, finishing with the attack in the plaza, and his decision to have Avery make a run for it.
“If you hadn’t she would probably be dead, too.” Tam made an effort to sound upbeat, despite the discouraging news. “And the Immortal would have the Brazen Head.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t? If Avery’s gone dark, it could mean they caught her.”
“Let’s work from the assumption that he doesn’t. Where would she go? Did you establish contingencies?”
“I just told her to run.” Greg’s expression darkened. “This came out of nowhere. No warning. I don’t know how they found us.”
Tam considered this for a moment. “Do you think she’ll try to head for the embassy? Stick to the original plan?”
“If she’s not holed up somewhere waiting for the dust to settle.”
“This is Dane Maddock’s sister we’re talking about.”
Greg chuckled then winced a little. “Who would have thought that stupid brass head was worth this kind of trouble.”
“No kidding. Even Stone is obsessed with it now.”
“Stone? You got him back?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you about it when you’re back on your feet.” She patted him on the arm. “I have to go after Avery. And stop the Immortal.”
“Then you need me.” He shifted as if to get out of the bed.
“Greg, you just got shot. Twice.”
“I’ve been shot before. This is nothing. My shooting arm still works.”
Tam shook her head. “Sorry, but no. You’re sitting the rest of this one out. But there is something you can do for me.”
“Name it.”
“Take care of Kasey.”
They found Stone in the reception area where they had initially spoken with DuBois. He was sitting in one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs, browsing the Internet on his mobile phone. There was no sign of the colonel.
“Where’s your new best friend?” Tam asked.
“I sent him on a fishing expedition,” Stone said without looking up. “Red herrings. He won’t be a problem. Did you learn anything interesting?”
“I was going to ask you.”
Stone continued looking at his phone. “There’s video of Avery leaving the scene. DuBois hasn’t identified her yet. I told him she was probably a local they hired as a guide-slash-interpreter. I think he bought it.”
“Greg told her to run. He thinks she might try for the embassy in Paris.”
“She caught the 9:07 p.m. train in Marseille last night.”
“DuBois told you that?”
Stone grinned. “No. But he was kind enough to give me his email address.”
“Oh, well that explains it.”
“His email address is his username. I figured out his password and logged into the national surveillance network.”
Sievers was incredulous. “You just...” He snapped his fingers and mimicked Stone’s casual tone. “Figured it out.”
“I accidentally shut his computer off. When he was logging back, I watched him enter his password. Couldn’t catch it all, but enough to fill in the blanks with a little social engineering. His Facebook profile was helpful, too.
“Anyway, I tracked Avery to the Place Grande Fontaine. There is an Internet café near there, which seemed like the most likely place for her to go. I called and spoke with the person who worked there yesterday, and he confirmed that a person matching her description was there. Bought half-an-hour on the computer. Paid in cash. The browser history and server logs were all wiped clean. It might be possible to recover that data, but that’s not something I can do with just a smartphone. But since she didn’t contact us, she must have reached out to someone else. Somebody who could not only help her get out of town without leaving a paper trail, but also erase his digital fingerprints after the fact.”
“Jimmy Letson.” Tam was impressed, not only with Stone’s investigative prowess, but also with Avery’s resourcefulness. “Smart girl.”
“The CCTV cameras show a car with an Uber sticker leaving the street shortly after Avery left the cyber café. I pulled the records for that driver. The destination for the rider—one Aubrey Maddox—was the Marseille train station. I pulled the video from the station and found Avery boarding the train to Paris.
“Paris is only a few hours away by train. She should have made it there last night.”
“Think maybe she’s afraid the Immortal has eyes on the embassy?” Sievers wondered.
“He might,” Stone said, looking chagrined. “He’s not as smart as he thinks he is, but he has the resources to track her. I was just about to start looking at the video footage from Paris station, but now that you’re here, we might as well look at it on the go.”
“Do that,” Tam said, starting for the door.